Tear The Whole World Down
by SakuraLetters
Summary: It has been a long time since America's death, leaving Russia in complete control. A personification bearing a strong resemblance to America appears, and she's out for Russia's blood...OC warning, blood, strong language, potential death
1. America Reborn?

**Hello! This is SakuraLetters! I got this idea after reading too many angsty RussiaAmerica stories. TT_TT **

**So, the idea behind this story is that Russia has managed to kill America. The world has fallen under Russia's rule, but, as with virtually all distopias, pockets of rebellion have begun to spring up and fight back. These pockets of rebellion have banded together to create a new "country" (a term used very loosely). Because enough people consider themselves part of this new "country", a new personification was born. Her outward appearance and overall blatant disregard for Russia have earned this new personification the underground nickname of "New America". Russia, obviously, does not like this and sets out to destroy this "New America", mainly because it seems to be a bit of a blow to his pride for his old enemy to return. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, however, I do believe I own "New America". Sorry if that believe is false! I have nothing of value for anyone to sue for, so don't even think about it. -_-'**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The first time he met her, she had punched him square in the jaw.

Her unequaled strength coupled with the raging flames of hate burning in her impossibly blue eyes—hatred for him and only him—had confirmed Russia's suspicions that this girl, this _prepubescent child_, was his old enemy reborn. The fire burning in her was more powerful than anything he had seen in a long time. His soldiers had had quite the time restraining her—it had taken three of them to keep her from jumping at him and attempting to beat the snot out of the Russian.

"What might your name be, comrade?"

"Like hell I'm telling you," she hissed, "and I'm not your fucking comrade!" She spat at his feet, the disrespect flowing off of her in waves.

She was truly a spitfire; as completely committed to achieving freedom as the rebels who probably were responsible for her creation.

"I am guessing it is some feminized version of Alfred. Allison? Amelia?"

"Wrong on all three accounts, bastard! Why would you even think that?"

"Are you not America?"

"Who the hell is America?"

"Ah, so you have no memory of your former existence, da?"

"Former existence? Ha! Don't make me laugh. There's no such thing as reincarnation or magic resurrections or any superstitious crap like that."

"Ah, perhaps your brain is too puny to retain so much informati—"

The girl had broken free from her captors and caught him in the jaw with a well-aimed left uppercut. She had loomed over him, her eyes still burning with hatred, and spoke the words that would come to define their future relationship:

"Don't you ever. Call me stupid. Again. Next time, I'll do more than punch your fugly face."

With that she had bolted away and disappeared into the streets and back alleys.

Russia, though rather furious that the girl had managed to get away, had smiled. America had returned, not as the over-confident country with a hero-complex he used to be, but as a young girl still trying to understand why she existed.

"Kolkolkol, it seems I shall have to end America's existence once again."

* * *

**I sincerely hope I kept Russia at least reasonably in character. I also hope I didn't make "New America" seem too strong. If it seems so...I both apologize and claim that "New America"'s strength is a throwback to America's strength, as well as simply her anger giving her some extra strength. **

**I'm seriously debating whether not to end this here, or continue on. I think it reads like it must continue, but I'm starting to have my doubts...**

**Please Review!**

**-Sakura  
**


	2. A Memory Remembered and A Plan Proposed

**Yo! SakuraLetters coming at you live with Chapter Ichi! I've gotten a lot of faves and alerts on this story, which I'm loving. However, I'd like to hear more from everyone whose faving and alerting. Reviews are my crack. Do not deprive the addict. XD On that note, thanks SilverKitChase for reviewing! (huggles and gives cookies)  
**

**Anywho, I hope to keep the story moving at a pretty good clip. There's a lot of twists and turns up ahead, and I hope they keep you on your toes! **

**Feel free to give me constructive criticism. Let me know if I'm making any cannon characters unnecessarily OOC. Yell at me if I mess up history without a proper explanation. Beat me over the head with a grammar book. Call me out on any inconsistencies. Hey, I'm only human too. **

**Anywho, enough of my masochistic babble. |D On with the obligatory disclaimer and then the main event!**

**Disclaimer: I, SakuraLetters, do not own Hetalia Axis Powers. (However, I will admit to making Hetalia-like jokes and the like in my AP US History class. V_V I gained nothing from them but laughs.) As I have not heard differently, I own "New America". (And yes, she is actually getting a real name this chapter.) Once again, I have nothing of value but my averagely-above average intelligence (Figure THAT one out) and therefore am not a good suing target. **

**Enjoy~!  
**

* * *

A small village sat peacefully amongst fields that were once seas of gently rolling grains such as corn and wheat. With an estimated population of about ninety to a hundred people, Cornucopia was a secluded and friendly place. It seemed even quainter at night, when flickers of candlelight blinked behind windows and soft wisps of smoke rose from brick chimneys.

If you placed your hands over your ears hard enough, you wouldn't even hear the screaming as troops descended on the village.

You see, the few residents of Cornucopia had a dark secret: they were part of the North American Resistance, an underground rebellion geared towards freeing the North American continent, and then the rest of the world, from Russia's grasp.

Both men and women rushed out to defend their small settlement, armed with everything from guns to knives to random bits of pipes or broken glass. Children sat at high-up windows and threw rocks they spent most of their free time collecting at the soldiers. One child in particular was very adamant about it.

"Wow, nice one, Sarah!"

"Yeah, and this one's going straight for that idiot's head!"

The girl wound up her arm and chucked the rock at one soldier whose helmet had somehow gone missing. The rock made a direct hit and the soldier fell the ground, bleeding profusely. The dirty blonde grinned and high-fived the little boy who was with her.

"Come on, we need to get to the Tunnels while the adults are keeping those Russian jerks busy!"

"Kay!"

The two kids ran down the stairs and hid behind a cleverly placed wall. They could hear a Russian soldier barking orders (like the dog he was). Sarah clamped a hand over her friend's mouth, and he did the same thing for her. They couldn't risk being caught.

"Что вы имеете в виду, вы не можете найти мальчишка?" (What do you mean, you can't find the brat?)

The other soldiers offered what sounded like weak excuses, but their voices were brutally cut down by their commander.

"Мне все равно, если у нас есть, чтобы сжечь всю деревню на землю! Найти ее!" (I don't care if we have to burn the entire village to the ground! Find her!)

The soldiers saluted and turned to leave. The two children would have been completely safe if the gun smoke in the air hadn't triggered the boy's allergies. A loud sneeze alerted the soldiers to the children's hiding spot, and soon both children were dragged out, Sarah kicking and screaming and spouting off curse after bloody curse. She was silenced when one of the soldiers hit her with the butt of his gun.

The little boy fought back the urge to call out his friend's name. It was the unspoken rule to never utter a name when there were Russians about. Names were powerful, identities that could never truly be stolen. To so carelessly throw something that powerful around like it was just another word was blasphemy.

The commander smirked at the children, a malicious glint in his eyes.

"Положите их с остальной частью повстанческих сволочь." (Put them with the rest of the rebel scum.)

Dragging the two kids outside and practically throwing them into the other villagers who were clinging to each in the village square, the soldiers reformed their ranks and the commander appeared with another man.

Martha Hughes, the woman who had been taking care of Sarah ever since her brother had found her wandering around in the woods as a toddler, hugged Sarah close, making sure the younger had sustained no threatening injuries. The young girl peered over her guardian's shoulder and looked at the new man. She had never seen anyone quite like him before. He had the same fair qualities of his people—the light blonde/almost silver hair and fair skin—but she had never seen anyone with violet eyes, and she had never seen anyone as tall as he was.

And, for some strange reason, she suddenly _knew_.

This man was just like her.

This man was the personification of the very thing she was raised to fight against.

This man was the Russian Empire.

* * *

Nearly forty years had passed since that midnight raid on her old village. Sarah had done quite a bit of growing up in that time. She had learned more about who she was, and why she was alive. She had got much taller, looking more like a maturing teenager on the brink of adulthood than a gawky little girl not yet old enough to be considered a teenager. She had also decided on a new name.

The North American Resistance.

In her mind, it was the perfect (stage) name. She wasn't exactly a country, although she stood every chance of becoming one once Russia fell, but she had to be the personification of _something_. People like her didn't just appear out of nothing, right? Also, considering how she was raised, the name fit her well enough.

"Hey, Sarah!"

The dirty-blonde looked up to see her best friend approaching her.

"Hello, Jackson. What's up?"

"Uncle's having a meeting right now, and he wants you there."

Jackson Wells had been Sarah's best friend since they were children. He was about her height, with pitch black hair, misty gray eyes, and a stubborn streak at least five miles wide. He was also fiercely loyal to the young Resistance.

The two entered the meeting hall, Sarah shutting the door after they were both in. She looked at the table and the people around it. Inside, she was freaking out, scared to death of what was going to happen.

Inside, she was still a teenager who wanted nothing to do with the at times overwhelming responsibility and pressure that came with being not only a rebel, but the personification of the Resistance. Despite how many battles and minor skirmishes she had participated in during her (relatively short) life, Sarah hated fighting. She hated fighting as much as she hated the Russian troops that oppressed her people. Naturally, this left her in a very uncomfortable position.

"Ah, Sarah. Welcome!"

"Thanks, sir."

"Now, now. I told you! Call me Uncle."

"Sorry, si—Uncle."

"That's better. Now, tell me, Sarah, do you recognize these two?"

The stout man who went by the name Uncle motioned to two women. They both had pitch black hair and brown skin, although they seemed to be different shades. Both women looked as though they had been hell more times than they were willing to count. Considering the state of the world, Sarah wasn't surprised.

"No…why?"

"Ah, I am heartbroken," the older looking woman muttered, something unrecognizable flashing in her storm-gray eyes. "My own granddaughter does not recognize me. Oh, Leilani, whatever is a poor, forgotten grandmother to do?"

"Enough with the theatrics, Aunt North. You are the North American Resistance, am I correct?"

"Yes…"

"I am Hawai'i, a former state of the United States of America."

_America_. There was that name again. Sarah's curiosity burst forth.

"Russia called me America. Who is America?"

Both women looked away. Hawai'i wore an expression of sorrow and grief. She had witnessed her adopted father's last moments, and had immediately gone into hiding. The past few years had been quite rough on her.

"America was my son," the older woman said, her voice soft. "He used to be a powerful nation, but he was murdered by Russia a long time ago."

"However, we are not here to discuss the past. North American Resistance, we've proposed a plan and we want you in on it," Hawai'i said, a determined strength gleaming in her dark blue eyes.

"We plan to infiltrate the Russian Empire, and we want you to be one of the agents."

* * *

**The first part of the chapter was sort of a precursor to what happened last time. I figure Sarah to be roughly 60 to 70 years old. Her physical appearance has matured because the Resistance is getting stronger. Sarah's got an interesting time on her hands, and it's only going to get better! ;D  
**

**...Yeah, I love my North America and Hawai'i. I have no idea why. I've never even been to Hawai'i. **

**Review please!**

**-Sakura  
**


	3. Forward to the End

**Welcome back to the next chapter of "Tear The Whole World Down". I'm your host, SakuraLetters. I really have no rants today expect for one quick comment: RUSSIA, TAKE BACK YOUR DAMNED GENERAL WINTER! IT'S BEEN IN THE NEGATIVE 20S TWO DAYS IN A FREAKING ROW. THAT'S NOT A GOOD THING. ...Okay, so that was technically three comments. V_V **

**Moving on, I've decided to start working with a past/present motif, or whatever the heck its called. So yeah. Expect flashbacks to intermingle with the story's present day. :D **

**Disclaimer: I, SakuraLetters, own nothing expect for Sarah and the other OCs. If I did, do you really think I'd be writing fanfiction?  
**_

* * *

The first time Russia saw America, the country was still a colony under England's control. He had been little more than a highly energetic child who seemed to have little concept of the world beyond his guardian. That happy-go-lucky child had grown into a young man who had fought for his own independence and won against one of the most powerful countries on the planet. _

_Ivan inwardly flinched as America let out another scream. The fledgling nation was going through his first civil war, and was probably in more agony that he could have ever imagined beforehand. Alfred was a pitiful sight, wrapped up in blankets that dark crimson blood was already starting to show through. Sweat-drenched hair clung to his face and his features were twisted up in an expression of severe pain. _

"_I…Ivan? That you?" Alfred bit back another scream, his fists turning white as he grasped the sheets. _

"_Da, it is me. How are you doing?"_

"_It hurts so fucking bad. Why does it have to hurt so much?"_

_Ivan strode over to the ailing nation's bedside and place a hand on his forehead. _

"_Do not fight against the pain. That will only be making it worse. The first civil war is always the worst."_

_Another scream escaped the young nation's throat as more blood began to seep through the blankets. Ivan stayed by him, muttering words of (hopefully) comfort and stroking his damp hair. _

_

* * *

Snip! Snip! Snip!_

Locks of inky black hair fell to the ground at each decisive cut of the scissors, forming a small heap at her feet. Deciding she had cut away enough, she set down the scissors and returned her gaze to the mirror. Staring back at her was a skinny little nobody with hair too dark to be real and eyes to blank to be human. Nothing at all like the skinny little personification with unruly blonde hair and sky blue eyes full of spitfire that had existed a few mere days ago.

She slowly lifted up a hand and tangled it in the darkened locks.

It felt wrong.

"Sarah? If you're ready, everyone's waiting," Jackson said as he opened the door, his voice trailing away towards the end as he saw his long-time friend.

This girl couldn't be Sarah. She appeared too subdued, too defeated. She looked like she would never speak another word again. This couldn't be the girl who had only yesterday punched someone in the face for making a rude comment.

"Okay, Jackson. I'll be right there."

She picked up her cloak and put it on, settling back into her newly-fabricated persona of the quiet little serving girl. Jackson hid his discomfort behind an impassive mask; it scared him to see her so easily playing the part of a voiceless girl with no future.

Miss Leilani, however, seemed more than pleased with Sarah's disguise as the two rebels joined the small team.

"Very good, Sarah. Okay, everyone, Sarah is the leader of this mission. You will all report back to her with whatever you find, however her cover must not be blown. As the personification of the Resistance, it is crucial that she is able to see this through to the bitter end, whatever it may be."

One of the rebel boys raised his hand. "Miss Leilani? What exactly would be the end of this?"

Leilani eyed the boy and then folded her arms over her chest. "Exactly what it sounds like. None of you are returning until either Russia or Sarah destroys the other."

North America watched the reactions of the team with a careful eye. Their reactions were to be expected of simple humans who weren't given a guarantee that they would prevail. Normally, the continent's realistic thinking would put the Resistance at a severe disadvantage against Russia. The girl was practically an infant, not even a century old, whereas Russia had been playing the bloody game of conquest and survival for millennia. The only thing that gave her a fighting chance were the shards of America that North saw faintly glimmering through Sarah's eyes.

"All of you, be quiet," Sarah said, gaining their attention without even raising her voice. "Yes, there is every possibility that I will lose. I know that. I accept that. I am prepared to deal with the consequences. None of you are here because you felt honor-bound. You've spent your entire lives fighting alongside me against the Russian forces trying to rip away our long-cherished dreams of freedom and equality. I've watched you grow up from giggling infants to intelligent and brave warriors."

She walked over to Leilani and took a hold of the sword the nation-in-hiding held.

"This is our final move against the Russian Empire. There are only two possible outcomes of this mission. Should we succeed, then the Russian Empire will fall, the other nations shall be set free, and we will be free to begin rebuilding the world. Should we fail, Russia will continue to rule, and we shall all go to meet our fates, whatever they may be. I do not want to die leaving the world at the mercy of the Russian Empire."

The metal of the sword caught the bits of light that managed to slip past the thick cloud cover as Sarah leveled it before her face. Her eyes burned with a fierce determination.

"This is the mission we have been working towards for as long as we can remember. We cannot fail."

A resounding silence filled the air, and was soon shattered by the whole-hearted responses of her teammates. North America smirked a little. The North American Resistance was a natural leader. She would need every scrap of that eloquence and determination should she prevail against Russia.

Leilani arranged the team and sent them on their way. Sarah looked out of the window to see her home shrinking into the forest. She sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes. Her partners were busy discussing plans or joking around with a confidence she wished she felt.

There was no turning back.

* * *

**Things are (hopefully) going to get a little faster from now on. I've already got the ending planned out and written a rough draft of it. **

**Thanks for reading and please review!**

**~Sakura  
**


	4. The Beginning, Part One

**Gah! Forgive me, Reader-sama. I feel horrible that I haven't been able to update in so long. At first things were incredibly busy due to getting everything ready for next fall college-wise, and then my dad died. That last one has created some nasty writer's block-everything I write now is horribly depressing. I hope this chapter is okay. bows Again, forgive the lateness!**

**Disclaimer: I, SakuraLetters, do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers. I just use the characters to play Dollies. :D  
**

* * *

"You are going to find Alaska."

It wasn't a question. North America already knew what the island nation planned on doing. Hawai'i finished packing her bag and straightened. She picked it up and slung it over her shoulder.

"Yes. It's been nearly a century. I wonder how he's doing."

"I am surprised you waited so long. When he went into hiding I thought you would hunt him down and join him."

Hawai'i turned around and looked at her adopted aunt.

"Alaska and I made an agreement after America died. We would continue to survive. We would stay free from Russia and we would find each other when the end was in sight. I have seen the end, Aunt North. I have seen the in end in that little girl with the eyes that burn like fire. If anyone can defeat Russia, it is her."

The island nation walked past North America and left the room, exiting the rebel base forever.

* * *

Even though she had known that the ocean still existed between the Americas and Russia, Sarah had always sort of pictured a continuous landscape instead. Having grown up with Russia practically breathing down her neck, it was odd thinking that, for all of his power, he was still an ocean away.

"Anya?"

She responded to the name immediately. She turned to see Jackson—_Mikhail_—standing a few feet from her. His hair had been stripped of its natural dark coloring, leaving it a platinum blonde that didn't look quite right on him. He walked over and stood by her side. Both rebels watched the ocean and the stars and the moon.

Mikhail squirmed a bit, a little uncomfortable due to the thick silence that Sarah—_Anya_—seemed to be unaware of. This could be the last time he saw her for awhile, as he had no idea where their paths would take them in the coming months. For all he knew, the next he saw her, she could be completely untouchable; a divine goddess risen to a plane he would never have the privilege of knowing. Their mission hadn't even begun per say, and already she seemed so different.

"Is something wrong, comrade? Do you have, what is it you North Americans say, ants in your pants?"

The boy jumped and whirled around, seeing Katarina Sharonina stepping out onto the deck. Merciless and sadistic to the extreme, Katarina was full-blooded Russian. She had been orphaned as a young child and brought into the Cornucopia base by one of the men. Katarina had the delicate beauty of a well-made porcelain doll and the savage cruelty of a skilled predator. She was the only Russian in their infiltration team, making her a critical source of insider knowledge.

Oh, how Jackson hated that fact. Hated that it was her, that is.

"No, I don't, Sharonina. Why the hell would you even ask?"

"Now, now, Mikhail. Is that any way to speak to a lady? Especially your comrade. I was merely curious as to why you seemed so nervous around Anya," Katarina said with a nonchalant tone, obviously unfazed by Mikhail's harshly spoken words.

Anya gave no physical response to the Russian girl's voice. Katarina had always been that way: using sharp words and manipulation of all sorts to get what she wanted. The Resistance had nothing personal against the girl; a fellow rebel was a fellow rebel. Katarina was in as much danger as Jackson was, if not more. After all, she had been born a Russian citizen. Her decision to stay with the Resistance and fight against Russia would probably be considered as one of the highest forms of treachery.

"However, Mikhail, I believe little Alexi isn't feeling very well. Perhaps his big brother would go and check up on him?"

Mikhail blinked, a look of mild confusion spreading across his face until the meaning set in. He scowled at the fair-haired Russian and stalked past her. As composed as ever, Katarina brushed off his glares as though they were little more than a fly and went to claim his recently vacated spot.

"You are going to go insane," she said matter-of-factly. "Passing yourself off as mute may seem like a good idea now, but I know you. You can't stay silent forever. I hope you realize that before you break."

Anya let out a long breath. _If the only reason you're here is to tell me that I'm crazy, you can leave now._

"It shouldn't be of any consequence to me, but my life depends on your triumph. I've gone too far to watch everything fall apart now." Katarina spoke the words in a low tone, her lips hardly moving.

Having spoken her piece, the blonde straightened and turned around.

"Dinner will be served shortly. I won't be back to fetch you."

* * *

Anya hated winter.

What was it about light gray, cloudy skies that made large buildings like the one she was currently looking up at seem so much more intimidating? Snowflakes fell, soft and light, onto her wool coat and threaded themselves into her cropped hair. She could see her breath, stark-white clouds of icy mist spewing from her mouth and nostrils with every exhale.

"And so we approach the beast," Katarina muttered as she moved to stand by Anya. Her flaxen blonde curls spilled out from under her black wool cap and fell delicately over her shoulders. She placed a mitten-covered hand on the Resistance's shoulders.

"Stay close to me, little Anya. Big Sister Katarina must keep her tragic, mute sister safe."

Anya nodded, gripping the Russian's hand in hers. The wrought-iron gates seemed to be the mouth of a huge, vicious bear. She knew what waited behind those black metal teeth: a taller, pale empire who had almost conquered the world, who had murdered her predecessor, who might possibly murder her.

Anya took a deep breath and her team strode towards the gates; towards the end.

* * *

**Sorry for the complete suckage. Hopefully it will get better when the action picks up. So, the Rebel forces have begun to infiltrate the very heart of the Russian Empire! Stay tuned for next time's installment!**

**-Sakura  
**


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